


Unkissed

by unkissed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexuality, M/M, POV Second Person, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2331035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/pseuds/unkissed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were fourteen.  You don’t quite remember when Draco Malfoy became attractive to you, but once you realized that the way his lips quirked up in a smirk did things to you, things that the sight of Pansy’s thighs peeking beneath her short skirt also did to you, you understood you had it bad.  Because the effect of that unexpected flash of Pansy’s skin was a mere blip in your pulse compared to the paradigm-shifting revelation that Draco’s evil grin had caused one day during double Potions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unkissed

**Author's Note:**

> It seems like a million years ago when a certain Draco first inspired me to write Draco/Theodore. Many manifestations and attempts later, I'm back to the start. It has never been clearer in my head who Draco and Theodore are as a pair and why they are the way they are. My eternal gratitude goes out to ColorfulStabwound for helping me along this path, however disjointed and divergent at times. I love our boys so much.
> 
> For that Draco with the Dior cufflinks.

You were fourteen. You don’t quite remember when Draco Malfoy became attractive to you, but once you realized that the way his lips quirked up in a smirk did things to you, things that the sight of Pansy’s thighs peeking beneath her short skirt also did to you, you understood you had it bad. Because the effect of that unexpected flash of Pansy’s skin was a mere blip in your pulse compared to the paradigm-shifting revelation that Draco’s evil grin had caused one day during double Potions. 

Granger was being an insufferable know-it-all as usual. You knew the answer to Professor Snape’s question even before he finished uttering it, but you kept it to yourself because you were not in the mood to listen to Draco calling you a show-off. You’d disparaged Granger and all of Gryffindor-kind with a sarcastic remark muttered under your breath that he found wryly humorous and he laughed - it was just a low, closed-lip snort really. But the pleasing way his lips curved at the corners, and the way his silver eyes gleamed darkly, awakened something inside of you. That was the precise moment you became sexually aware and projected all of your nascent desires upon one person. Who the Hell was Pansy Parkinson when you had this delicious little devil named Draco smirking at your side? 

You decided that you were gay – not that it really was a choice, but you made it one. Because you hated your father so much that you’d gladly be a “non-reproductive abomination” just to piss him off. It didn’t really matter to you at the time that you were really bisexual. Forget homosexuality and heterosexuality and bisexuality - you sexually identified with Draco. He was all you wanted.

You didn’t know what you wanted from him though, being fourteen and terribly uninformed. But you did know that you wanted to be near him all the time. Not just in his vicinity, but close to him. You were often in the same place at the same time anyway. But now, you couldn’t ignore the undeniable gravitational pull of Draco’s presence and you found yourself spinning closer and closer to the center of his universe – the universe of which he was the sun.

You never stooped low enough to be one of Draco’s sheep-like minions. But you still followed him. Everywhere. You rushed to sit next to him at meals before Pansy could take the coveted seat. You walked through the corridors between lessons with your shoulder touching his, using hushed, idle chatter as an excuse to be so close to him. You were quick to claim him as your partner when paired up for school projects. You peered over his shoulder in the library and copied his notes as he studied them, pretending that yours weren’t far superior.

You wanted to impress him, to please him, to make him laugh, to make him smile, to make his lips do that thing that made your heart race and your chest hurt and your trousers feel tighter. Every time you succeeded, it was a glorious triumph and you melted from the heat he generated within you.

Because you were always a bit socially inappropriate by default or by choice, and understood nothing of subtlety in close quarters, your hopeless crush was quite obvious to anyone with shrewd observation skills, of which there were several in the shrewdest of Hogwarts houses. But your feelings for Draco could still fall under the guise of friendship. Everyone wanted to be friends with the Prince of Slytherin’s social elite. And you were the luckiest of them all, because you, and you alone, were Draco’s equal in his eyes.

This displeased nobody more than Pansy. If your crush on Draco was not very subtle, her crush on Draco was heralded with a host of trumpets and choir singers, albeit out of tune. And you quickly forgot about her creamy thighs in favor of spurning her as your rival. You two were as catty as a couple of felines, bickering and clambering for Draco’s attention, much to his terrific amusement. While Pansy’s game plan was to kiss Draco’s arse with fervor, you were more inclined to call him an arsehole. You understood that the more you asserted your superiority over Draco, the more you called him out on his shit, the more you refused to revere him as a Slytherin Prince, the more he liked you and respected you.

As the weeks wore on, with neither you nor Pansy gaining lasting footing above one another as far as Draco’s favor, you knew you had to take drastic measures before the school year ended. And that’s when you learned how to flirt.

You watched Blaise, who was always a bit of a ladies man, and studied his moves, of which he had many. What you’d gleaned from close observation of Blaise, you used on Draco. You noticed that girls smiled more when Blaise made some sort of noninvasive physical contact while he talked to them. So you made it a habit of putting your hand on Draco’s shoulder or on his arm when you spoke to him. And just like Blaise had done with the ladies, you tipped your head close when speaking quietly with Draco.

Other than by the fact that Draco rejected the advances of every girl, with the negligible exception of Pansy, you had no idea if he was even interested in boys that way. But the more you used Blaise’s little moves, the more Draco used them on you, which blew your mind entirely. You thought, no, you hoped that Draco had been feeling the same exact way about you. Perhaps he had previously been reluctant to even hint at it until you started making your feelings more obvious. 

Soon, the little hand-on-arm thing evolved into more meaningful touching and more conspicuous flirting. You catalogued every single instance in your journal and replayed them in your mind as you lay sleeplessly in your bed at night, right next to Draco’s bed. 

Instance 1: You’d been whispering some rude inside joke with your arm draped over his shoulders, both of you hunched in secret chatter, when Draco idly took the end of your tie and absently played with it between his fingers. 

Instance 2: He was eating pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream for pudding one night when you swiped your finger through it and licked it suggestively when he protested. He smudged a bit of it on your nose in retaliation, sending you both into a fit of giggles. 

Instance 3: Even though he danced with Pansy and you danced with Daphne at the Yule Ball, you and Draco spent most of those dances making silly faces at one another over your dates’ shoulders and exchanged playfully rude hand gestures. You’d escaped the ball to get drunk together in one of the black carriages stationed outside the castle that night.

Instance 4: You were sitting together on the sofa in the common room one evening, reviewing for a final exam, when his head tipped lazily towards your shoulder and rested there for the remainder of your study session. You couldn’t concentrate on anything but the scent of his shampoo. 

Instance 5: Your head ended up in his lap while you and nearly the entire student body were enjoying the sun on the lawn on the final day of the term. And he played with your hair. Yes, Draco Malfoy had his fingers in your fucking hair and you nearly creamed your pants – that incident was likely the catalyst for subsequent nocturnal emissions. 

You couldn’t wait for summer hols because you knew it was one of the few times you could have Draco all to yourself, without his minions that always seemed to flank him. Your father visited Malfoy Manor often and you were more inclined than usual to tag along. And Draco seemed more apt to visit you – you had never once invited him to your house ever in your entire life. But he had always felt entitled to just invite himself, either by simply showing up at your house, or prefacing his visit with an owl. This had annoyed you to no end up until now, when you had to hide how excited you were to see him - literally.

One night, Draco decided that you should have a sleepover at your house because he’d discovered your father was going away for the weekend, and he thought it would be great fun to terrorize your elf and your governess. It was rather enjoyable, especially the part when he climbed into your bed with the excuse that the guest bed was lumpy. Rather than relegate you to the guest bed, he let you stay in your own bed, as if it were his right to make that decision. He fell asleep curled up beside you with his head tucked under your arm and his face pressed against your side. 

You didn’t sleep at all that night. You just watched him and marveled at how young and lovely he looked while the softness of sleep erased his ever-present smirk. He was the most beautiful boy you’d ever seen, and for that night, you could pretend that he was yours.

That was the moment you fell in love with Draco Malfoy.

When he didn’t contact you for a week, you began to worry that you’d done something wrong. In your head, you kept replaying that night with Draco in your bed, trying to figure out if you’d somehow pushed him too far. But you did nothing offensive that you could recognize. You’d let him have his way in every instance, and you wondered if maybe that was where you went wrong. You’d gotten this far by decidedly not kissing his arse or spoiling him. 

Another week passed and you jumped at the opportunity to accompany your father to Malfoy Manor for one of his meetings. It was supposedly a rather important meeting and Draco’s mother coaxed you and Draco out of the house with false promises of a big meteor shower. When you and Draco were alone together, you couldn’t ignore the palpable tension between you. He wasn’t talking much, but he was looking at you. A lot. You felt like you were being scrutinized and it made your skin tingle almost uncomfortably, even though this was precisely the sort of attention you’d been craving from him. 

You lay on a blanket on the great lawn of the Malfoy estate, gazing up at the glorious expanse of starry sky that stretched before you. You passed a pair of omniocculars between you, identifying constellations and arguing about their names. You had been particularly focused on locating Mars when you turned to hand the omniocculars to Draco. You found him closer to you than before you’d lifted your attention to the sky. You could sense the weight of his stare pressing upon you, and it felt like he was touching your body with the heat of his gaze. Something passed between you – something unspoken and electric – something that seemed forbidden and subsequently delightful.

The stars were quickly forgotten and you just stared at each other, sprawled along your sides like mirror images, punctuating the silence with occasional meaningless conversation to ease the tension, but only minimally. You had stopped trying to impress him, and he had stopped trying to make himself seem superior, and you allowed the pretenses to fall away. It had been the most genuine you’d ever been with one another.

You said something vaguely funny and it made him laugh. The lightness of that laugh made your heart soar. And the sincerity of his smile made you die a beautiful little death inside. You could not stop your hand from reaching across the very small distance between you to experimentally brush the back of your fingers across his cheek. And as if you had painted it yourself, color blossomed on his pale skin beneath your touch. His eyes fell closed with a deep intake and exhale of breath. He was beautiful. More beautiful than he was that night you’d watched him sleep. 

It was that moment that you ceased to question what you wanted from him, for it became absolutely clear to you – You wanted Draco Malfoy to be all yours. You wanted him in the deepest, darkest sense of the word. You wanted to own every smile on his lips and every star in his eyes. And you knew that it would destroy you if you couldn’t have him.

Your hand shook almost imperceptibly as it slowly mapped the regal lines of Draco’s face. You traced a languid line of along the angle of his jaw and brushed the fringe of his blond hair from his faint brow to caress his temple. You watched his chest inflate and deflate with steadily increasing depth and frequency. You watched his tongue slide along his bottom lip and imagined that his throat had gone as dry and as tight as yours.

He didn’t stop you. He didn’t speak. But you somehow knew that he wanted you to keep touching him, even though his own hand was clenched in a white-knuckled fist around the blanket. That should’ve been a red flag to you, signaling that there was a war going on inside him. You were too young and too optimistic to recognize it. You ignored how forbidden this was in favor of relishing the softness of his skin. You’d forgotten how wrong it was for two pureblood boys to be indulging your senses upon each other. That’s because it never felt wrong to you. It felt natural. It felt like your body was designed to elicit pleasure from his body.

Your blunt nails lightly raked through his hair and it felt like silken moonbeams slipping through the spaces between your fingers. The nearly inaudible sound of a sigh escaping Draco’s lips drew your attention away from his hair, down to his mouth, and you found that it was open slightly. He was breathing through lips that parted with each inhalation, taking tiny little gulps of air like a siren gleaning oxygen from the sea. And though every breath seemed wrought with some kind of silent pain, you wanted to take it from him. You hadn’t kissed anyone before, and you didn’t quite know how to do it, but you wanted it. You needed to learn what it felt like to have his mouth on yours, to know what he tasted like.

Your fingers quickly found their way to the nape of his neck and his eyes flashed open. You couldn’t read the emotion or the thoughts that rendered his eyes the color of a thunderstorm, but you knew that they all clashed behind his eyes with the intensity of a tempest. His expression said both yes and no, and because you were delirious with need, you decided to ignore the latter and cling to the former.

His hand clenched into the front of your shirt as you pulled him closer by the back of the neck, and you wanted to believe that it was his way of drawing you in. His eyes fluttered closed and his brows knit together with what you’d hoped was desperate need. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip and you decided it was intentional – it had to be intentional – how could something that made you instantly stiff within your pants be a mere accident?

You held your breath and you closed the distance between your lips. And you were rewarded with the softest, warmest, most beautiful thing that had ever touched your mouth. He tasted of mint leaves and sherbet lemons. Your lips moved inexpertly over his, slowly closing wetly over his bottom lip, pressing noisily against the corner of his mouth. You were so lost in the taste and the feel and the exquisite scent of Draco Malfoy that you failed to notice that he wasn’t kissing you back.

When you finally realized, after a heated moment, that your affection was not reciprocated, you pulled away. He didn’t let go of your shirt right away and you realized it was there, not to keep you close, but to hold you at bay.

His words were quiet, slightly strangled, when he asked, “Why’d you do that?” His eyes were like glass and he looked absolutely broken and betrayed.

You knew he didn’t expect an answer. He wanted you to know that you’d ruined everything. You rolled away from him so he couldn’t see you burst into tears, but you couldn’t stifle the tiny sound of anguish no matter how hard you bit your lip. You walked away, wringing your hands in the bottom hem of your shirt, crying so hard that you couldn’t see where you were going in the dark. 

You wound up on the boat dock above the small lake on the south end of the Malfoy estate. Part of you wanted to fall in and let the black water drown the sound of your angst and swallow the rush of your tears. But you couldn’t move. Every muscle was stiff with pain and anger. Every second leading up to that rejected kiss pounded repeatedly behind your blood-shot eyes and forced out an endless stream of tears. Every touch and glance and smile had been grossly misinterpreted and you felt that you could die of utter humiliation – you would gladly welcome death just to escape this unbearable fury of emotion that was quickly rivaling the anguish you felt when you witnessed your mother’s murder.

The sick thing was, because you were still so deliriously in love with Draco Malfoy, the most painful part of it all wasn’t the discovery that your feelings weren’t mutual – it was the realization that you’d hurt him and destroyed your friendship. You couldn’t erase this. You couldn’t go back to the way things were. You couldn’t un-kiss him. The stain of your selfish, misguided, traitorous lips would forever be on his.

The ensuing silence over the next several weeks was conclusive proof of how definitively you’d fucked up your friendship with Draco. He didn’t invite you back to Malfoy Manor. You’d rather your father beat you than let him drag you with him when he attended his meetings with Lucius Malfoy. Draco never owled, never dropped by your house unannounced, never even inquired about you to others, as you had found out from your friends at the start of term. 

You managed to avoid Draco, which was quite a feat, considering you lived in the same dormitory and attended the same classes. You woke up early and went to bed late just so you didn’t have to see him in your room. You sat with the upperclassmen at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, rather than have to watch Draco summarily going on with his life without you as if you’d been just a passing amusement and not his best mate since the age of seven.

And that’s when it truly began to hurt. You hadn’t thought your heart could break any more than it had that night he didn’t kiss you. You were so fucking wrong. Draco never mourned the end of your friendship. Not like you did. And when he moved on, he did so very conspicuously with Pansy Parkinson. She was everywhere you used to be – by his side at the dinner table, arm-in-arm with him in the corridors, practically in his lap and down his throat in the common room. They seemed to flaunt their newfound closeness in front of you with malicious fervor.

You literally felt nauseous every time you saw Draco and Pansy together. So you made yourself so scarce that you’d quickly earned a reputation for being a loner – ironic, considering how social you really were. But everybody that you deemed worthy of socializing with also socialized with Draco and you just couldn’t stand to be around him. You grew vicious and bitter when your friends tried to talk to you because you’d lost so much sleep and skipped so many meals that it was making you as cranky as an old man. You buried yourself in your journal, in your studies, in your books of poetry, and you learned to adapt to life without friends – life without Draco Malfoy.

The horrible thing is, you never stopped caring about him.

Because, even when you refused to watch him living his life, you couldn’t help but sneak furtive glances, and when you looked at him, you could see he hadn’t been the same since you kissed him. The kiss was inadvertently timed right when your world started to roil with pending doom – a dark tide was rising and both you and Draco were about to be caught in it. Your fathers were arrested near the end of that school year and you returned to a drastically different Hogwarts for your sixth year as the sons of two notorious Death Eaters. But rather than coming together to give one another strength in the most trying time of your young lives to date, you stayed apart. When you stole glances at him, he looked haunted and afraid and gaunt and sick – even more so than you. You should’ve put your grudge aside to be there for him, but you chose not to. You were selfish, and you knew it would kill you if you had tried to help him and he rejected your friendship.

If you could blame somebody for the deadness of Draco’s expression, it would not have been Voldemort. It was Harry Fucking Potter. A war was brewing over his stupid, spectacled, scarred face and you hated him so much you might have reconsidered joining the Death Eaters just to smite out the Chosen One. The world was being ruined because of a ridiculous grudge against this dumbass kid that wouldn’t die. And when you found out that he nearly killed Draco in a bathroom scuffle, your friends (who never really stopped being your friends because Slytherins are more loyal than even Hufflepuffs) had to physically restrain you to keep you from retaliating in murderous ways.

That’s when you realized that you not only cared about Draco this whole time, you never stopped loving him. You became painfully aware that you never would.

You didn’t stop loving him when you found out he had taken the Dark Mark. And you didn’t stop loving him when you ran away from home at sixteen to escape the same fate.

And despite all the miles and the years you had to put between you and Draco Malfoy to try to forget him, you never stopped loving him. It felt like the very moment before you kissed him on the great lawn at fourteen, the day he found you in Morocco and finally kissed you back.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Kissed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2340140) by [ColorfulStabwound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound)




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